


Irreconcilable Similarities

by QueerOnTilMorning



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Coming Out, Dirty Talk, Eddie Kaspbrak Lives, Eddie Kaspbrak Loves Richie Tozier, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Humor, Love Confessions, M/M, Masturbation, Myra Kaspbrak is not a villain, Phone Sex, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, This is dumb and I am dumb for writing it, breaking up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-16
Updated: 2020-07-09
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:53:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24755845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueerOnTilMorning/pseuds/QueerOnTilMorning
Summary: "We have lots of food, but I don't feel like cooking any of it," she says contemplatively. "What do you think of trying that new vegan place Sandra recommended?""Myra, I'm gay," he says from the doorway.Myra shoots him a look. "Is that a no on vegan?"Or: Eddie comes out to Myra and finds out they have more in common than he's ever realized.Chapter 2 added 7/9 by popular demand! Please note that the rating has changed.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Myra Kaspbrak, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Myra Kaspbrak/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 164
Kudos: 708





	1. Chapter 1

When Eddie gets off the phone with Richie, he's made up his mind. There's no putting it off any longer.

He has to come out to his wife.

It's driving him crazy, listening to Richie's endless stories about the comedic misadventures of being forty and newly out in LA. Eddie's so goddamn jealous--that should be him, going on awkward first dates and learning how to take a good dick pic, but also, that should be  _ him,  _ going on dates with _ Richie-- _ and at least once a week it threatens to boil over. He's had to physically bite his tongue, several times, to stop himself from saying something irreversible.

He's not afraid to tell Richie. (About the gay thing, anyway. The lifelong crush… he can work up to that.) It would be so natural, as easy as breathing, considerably easier than breathing was for the first few weeks after the spider hole-punched him like a piece of looseleaf paper. But he  _ can't _ tell Richie, not yet.

Someone else deserves to be the first to know. He can at least show Myra that much respect.

So he pockets his phone and walks downstairs and into the kitchen. His wife is staring into the open refrigerator, drumming her fingers thoughtfully against her chin.

"We have lots of food, but I don't feel like cooking any of it," she says contemplatively. "What do you think of trying that new vegan place Sandra recommended?"

"Myra, I'm gay," he says from the doorway.

Myra shoots him a look. "Is that a no on vegan?"

"No, it's not--it's not a joke," he says. He comes all the way into the kitchen, gently removes her hand from the refrigerator door so he can close it. "I'm gay. I'm sorry. I'm attracted to men."

"Sure," she says, beginning to look uncomfortable. "So would you rather do the usual sandwich place?"

Eddie takes her hand. "You're not listening, Marty."

"Eddie!" Myra's composure breaks just a little, something panicky showing in the tight set of her mouth. Then she smooths it away. "I know, okay? We don't have to talk about this."

He stares at her. "Of course we have to talk about it!"

"Why?" She's using her calming tone, the one that makes him feel placated and therefore want to claw his own skin off. "We've never needed to before."

"There wasn't anything to--I didn't  _ know _ before!"

Finally, there it is, the look of utter confusion and dawning horror that he was expecting all along. "You didn't know?"

"I just figured it out!" He's yelling. He shouldn't be yelling, but he is, because this conversation is _ not _ going the way he planned it, and volume is his refuge when sense abandons him. "I went home, and I saw Richie, and I-- just  _ felt _ all this--"

"Oh," she says brusquely. "I see. You're in love with Richie, so all of a sudden this is a problem."

The sound of those words, the ones he's been trying not to think about for weeks, in her flat voice--Eddie feels dizzy and tingling, like he accidentally ate a cashew. "Yes, it's a problem," he says. "Of course it's a fucking problem."

"You don't have to make it  _ my _ problem," she says. "That's never been how we did things."

"I've never wanted to fuck someone else!" he shouts. It's cruel, it's crude, he regrets it instantly, but--she's not listening. He needs to get through to her somehow.

And that seems to do it. "What do you mean?" she says slowly, as though finally feeling the impact of his words. "What do you mean, you've never wanted to?"

"I mean I-- God, I'm sorry, but I think about him all the time. I've never felt like this. I'm sorry, Marty, but I never felt like this about you. I want to be with him so badly."

Myra shakes her head. "Yes, I understand that part. But Eddie, are you saying--are you telling me this is the first time?"

"The first time what?"

"You're saying this is the first time you've felt this way?" She seems to be getting more upset as she goes on. "Eddie, are you telling me that in all our years of marriage, this is the first time you've ever had an affair?"

"I'm not having an affair."

She gapes at him. "Why _ not? _ "

"Because I'm married to you," he says stupidly. "I couldn't cheat. I needed to be honest. I know I fucked this up, but you deserve that much."

Myra squeezes her eyes shut. When they open again, she's glaring at him. "For God's sake, Eddie," she says. "I'm a lesbian."

He does not have a response prepared for that. If Richie were here right now, he would probably have something hilarious to say about the look on Eddie's face.

"You really had no idea?" Myra asks, incredulous.

“How,” he starts, and then “No. No! Of course not!”

“Well, I am,” she says.

He cuts through the air with the side of his hand, like an ax chopping wood. “Then why the fuck did you  _ marry _ me?”

“For the same reasons you married  _ me, _ ” she says. “Eddie, you said it all when you proposed. Don’t you remember?”

Eddie tries to think back to his proposal. He’s pretty sure he said something about how long they’d been seeing each other, how an engagement was the next logical step. It would make his mother happy, he’d pointed out. And they got along well. They agreed about things like money and politics. They had similar ideas about how to raise the children they were similarly ambivalent about having.

“I think I said it would be beneficial for us both,” he says now.

“Yes,” she says. “And you thought--what? That you were doing a good impression of a straight man proposing to his girlfriend who he was heterosexually attracted to?”

“It wasn’t an  _ impression! _ ” Eddie protests. “I liked you more than any other woman I knew! I  _ wanted _ to marry you!”

“Well, so did I,” she says. “It made sense. It was convenient. It’s  _ still _ convenient. Eddie, I  _ like _ our marriage. I like our  _ life. _ I don’t understand why you’re trying to make things complicated now.”

“Because I met someone I actually want to have sex with!”

“So  _ do _ it!” Myra is not quite shouting, but she’s finally getting close to it. “Go on a ‘business trip’ to Chicago like you always do, and leave me out of it!”

“I can’t just--wait.” He rubs his eyes. “A business trip? Do you think that I’m off having sex with men whenever I travel for business?”

“Aren’t you?”

“No!” Eddie feels the heat rising in his face. “I’ve never--Myra, I would  _ never! _ I have never cheated on you!”

Her brow furrows. “Those are all real business trips?”

“Yes!”

“Oh, Eddie,” she says. “You work too hard. That’s not healthy, especially with what flying does to your blood pressure. You need to take some time for yourself, sweetheart.”

“What the fuck?” he asks the ceiling, spreading his hands helplessly before him.

“Why don’t you sit down?” Myra asks, pulling out a chair at the dining room table. Eddie sinks into it, his legs numb, his mind churning as he tries to process everything.

“Okay, back up,” he says. “So you’re gay. And I’m gay.”

“Yes,” she says impatiently.

“And you assumed I’d been sleeping with men this whole time.”

“Yes,” she says again, more guarded now.

“So does that mean--” He swallows hard. “Myra, have you been cheating on me with women?”

This time she doesn’t say yes, but it doesn’t matter.

“Holy shit,” Eddie says. “Holy  _ shit! _ When do you--oh my God, all those spa weekends with Sandra--” She doesn’t say anything, but he can tell he’s right. “Does Sandra know she’s your alibi? Did you ask her to lie for you if it came up?”

“Well.” Myra clears her throat delicately.

“Does she  _ know? _ ” Eddie asks again, thinking of prim, tidy Sandra who always glares at him when she comes over, and then it clicks into place. “Oh, God dammit, Sandra’s your mistress.”

“ _ Edward, _ ” she scolds. “You don’t need to use that kind of language. This is not a soap opera.”

“Fucking isn’t it, though?” He can’t believe this. He absolutely cannot believe this is his fucking life. The demon clown from outer space was more plausible than this. “How long have you and Sandra…?” He can’t think of a way to say it that won’t offend her, so he makes a gesture, which offends her.

“Five years,” she says. “Sandra’s bisexual. Her marriage to David was real, but when it ended--”

“So she’s not a cheater, just you?” Why is he so  _ angry, _ he wonders? He was going to leave her. He’s in love with someone else. But--he feels betrayed.

It’s not because she didn’t tell him about herself, about Sandra. It’s because she didn’t tell him about  _ him. _ All this time he’s been wrestling with a terrible self-awareness, with something that would destroy his carefully constructed life were he ever to admit it out loud, and Myra  _ knew _ , and didn’t even think it worth discussing.

“I didn’t think of it as cheating,” Myra says. “I saw it as a compromise we both agreed to make for the life we wanted.”

“That’s why Sandra hates me, isn’t it?” he says. “Because you wouldn’t leave me for her.”

Myra bites her lip, then nods slowly.

“Myra,” he pleads. “How can you think this is good enough? Why don’t you just go be with the person you actually want?”

She gestures as if she can’t find the words, as if she’s feeling in the air for where they might be. “My parents--”

“Your parents are dead!  _ My  _ parents are dead! You could have dropped the act years ago!”

“I don’t want to rush things with Sandra,” she says.

“You got engaged to me after five months!”

“Well, it’s not like I was worried that living with you would take all the passion out of our relationship!” Myra snaps.

And that does it. Eddie starts laughing.

Myra folds her arms and gives him the scowl, the one that usually makes him retreat and apologize, but right now it just makes everything funnier. His wife is furious at him. His wife, who is having an affair, is furious at him. His wife is furious at him for suggesting that she leave him for the woman with whom she is having an affair.

Richie is going to fucking  _ love _ this, he thinks.

Myra holds the scowl for an admirably long time, but he just keeps laughing. The scar on his chest hurts--and that’s funny, too, his fucking  _ alien spider clown _ scar. His wife must have assumed he was injured on one of his many hedonistic gay sex vacations, when in fact he felt too guilty to even jerk off about Richie in the hotel. “What the hell,” he says.

For some reason, that’s what breaks Myra. Her lips twitch, and she tries to suppress the smile, but it forces its way out in spite of her. “What the hell,” she agrees, and then she’s laughing too. She drops into the chair next to him, puts her head in her hands, and cackles until tears are streaming down her face.

“Myra,” he says when they’ve both caught their breath.

“Yeah?” she asks, and the look on her face sparks something warm and healing in his chest. He thinks this is the closest he’s ever felt to the woman he married.

“I want a divorce,” he says.

She sighs with resignation. “It’s going to be such a  _ hassle _ , Eddie,” she says, her tone conveying that she knows she’s lost this argument, but she still has to try. “Can’t we just keep going the way we have been?”

“No,” he says. “I can’t ask Richie to be with me if I’m going to lie about it. He deserves better than that.”

Myra nods. “Sandra does too,” she admits.

“It doesn’t have to be a hassle, anyway,” he says. “I’m not going to fight with you about  _ things. _ You can have the house.”

She raises her eyebrows. “I hate this house.”

“What? You  _ picked _ this house!”

“ _ You _ said the crime rates in this neighborhood, combined with the cost of living and the probability of lead paint--”

“You wanted to live somewhere quiet!”

“I said  _ quiet, _ not  _ beige suburban dystopia!” _

Eddie gapes at her. “Well, fuck,” he says finally.

Myra gives another quiet laugh and nods.

“So much for our mutually beneficial arrangement,” he says.

She rolls her eyes. “Maybe we should have talked through the specifics sooner?”

“Something to keep in mind for your next sham marriage.”

“I don’t think so,” says Myra. “You were the best husband of convenience I could possibly have found. If I couldn’t make it work with you, it’s hopeless.”

“You’re probably right,” he says. “Want to sell everything and split the money?”

“Sure.”

He starts to push his chair back, thinking he needs to call Richie as soon as possible, though he’s still trying to figure out what he’s going to say. But Myra puts out a hand to stop him.

“Wait. Eddie?”

“Yes?” he says nervously.

“Can I keep your mother’s silverware?” she asks.

He smiles. It feels so good to smile for real. “Yes,” he tells her. “A thousand times, yes.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Due to popular demand, I've added a second chapter! Eddie calls Richie and comes out. PLEASE NOTE: unlike chapter 1, chapter 2 is explicit!

When Eddie calls for the second time that night, Richie is kind of in the middle of something. Actually, to be frank, he's closing in on the end of something. He considers letting the call go to voice mail, but when he sees that it's  _ Eddie, _ he stops, catches his breath, wipes his hand on his shirt, and answers.

There's a game Richie's been playing with himself, counting how many times he can get out a full sentence over the phone before Eddie starts talking. So far, the tally is at one, and that was when Eddie butt-dialed him and didn't realize he'd picked up. Maybe today he'll make it to two.

"What's--"

Nope. "How does a guy marry a lesbian and not know about it for ten years?"

"I don't know," says Richie. "How? If the punch line is homophobic I'll sue you."

"God dammit, Rich, there's no punch line! This is my life! I'm the fucking punch line!"

"What are you talking about?" Belatedly, out of respect for what is apparently a serious conversation, he zips his fly.

"I'm talking about Myra!"

"Well, that's new," Richie says dryly. Eddie never talks to the Losers about his wife. Unlike Stan, who's gone out of his way to introduce Patty to everyone and include her in their conversations, Eddie demonstrates no interest whatsoever in fostering connections between his friends and Myra. A moment later, Richie's brain, moseying several steps behind like always, catches up to his mouth. "Wait. Myra--?"

"Myra is a lesbian! She has a fucking... I don't know, she got mad when I called her a mistress. Girlfriend? We're forty. I don't think forty-year-olds should--"

"Eds, we can decide on the preferred nomenclature later," Richie says. His heart is pounding. It's mostly rage--Myra cheated on Eddie, Myra got to marry  _ Eddie fucking Kaspbrak _ and she fucking  _ cheated on him-- _ but there's a small, shameful part of him that can't help leaping for joy at the thought of Eddie being single. "She's having an affair? That's what you're saying?"

"Yes. For five years. Well, actually-- huh." Richie can _ hear _ what Eddie's eyebrows are doing, and despite the emotional turmoil, it's really cute. "She's been with this woman for five years. I guess there were probably others before that. She didn't get into the details."

"Well, fuck," says Richie. What is he supposed to say after that? This is clearly not the time to make a joke, but unfortunately, that's Richie's entire skill set. He's not really the guy people come to with heavy emotional stuff.

Except Eddie _ did _ come to him. Eddie trusted him with this, for some reason. Richie has to make _ some _ effort to be worthy of that trust.

"I'm… I'm really sorry, man," he tries. "How did you find out?" Shit. Maybe he shouldn't have asked that; maybe the discovery was horrible and traumatizing and talking about it will devastate Eddie further.

"The thing is, she thought I already knew," says Eddie. "She was like, why is this a problem all of a sudden? Because apparently in her mind we've had this unspoken agreement. Like, as long as we've been together."

"She thought you knew she was fucking other people?" Richie is genuinely aghast. This situation should be ripe for jokes, but he can't think of a single one.

"No!" He can hear the side of Eddie's hand hit his opposite palm. "She thought _ I _ was fucking other people too!"

"Seriously?" It's not that Richie doesn't think Eddie  _ could _ get a girl on the side--he's probably had opportunities, although whether he's noticed them is a different matter altogether. But Eddie never so much as cheated on a spelling test, no matter how blatantly Richie left his answers uncovered. The guy's ethics are as firm and well-developed as his abs.

"Yeah, like we were in some kind of--beard situation, and it just went without saying. What do they call that? A lavender marriage, right?"

"Lavender marriage is when you're both gay," Richie corrects.

There's a pause, and then Eddie says "Shit, yeah, that's what I should have opened with."

The way Richie shrieks in surprise is a humiliation he will take to his grave, only slightly mitigated by the fact that he drops the phone, so Eddie probably doesn't hear it very clearly. "What?" he asks the hand that is no longer holding his phone. He scrambles to pick it up. "What the fuck?" he wants to say, but all that comes out is "Fuck?"

"Is that--" Eddie coughs. "Is that a  _ proposition?" _

"Yes," says Richie, because when your rational mind shuts down what's left is your instincts, and Richie's instincts are horny idiot bitches.

"Okay," says Eddie. "I mean, I was going to-- I thought maybe, if we talked about-- I was going to work up to that, but-- yeah, I mean, okay. I would. Like to." He's pausing between words, taking whole actual breaths. If Richie were sentient right now, he'd be able to get a word in edgewise. Holy shit.

"Eds," he pleads, not even sure what he's asking for, whether he wants this bizarre trick that is surely being played on him to stop or continue forever.

"Okay, let me start over," Eddie says.

"That would be good," Richie agrees, in a heroic burst of coherence.

"I'm gay," Eddie says. He waits for a response, but with all the fireworks going off and angels singing, Richie is too overwhelmed to think of one. Eventually Eddie goes on. "I finally worked up the nerve to tell Myra, and her response was that she already knew, she's  _ always _ known, she's gay too, and let's never talk about this again."

Richie blinks hard. "Wow," he says. "I mean, I don't have room to judge anyone for being closeted, but that's--wow. Props to her for committing to the bit, I guess."

"It's fucking bizarre," Eddie says. "Especially--she has a girlfriend. Who  _ loves _ her. Fucking Obergefell versus Hodges was more than a year ago, she could literally have just dumped me and married her actual partner."

"Maybe she was scared," Richie mutters. For perhaps the first time, he feels a spark of sympathy for Eddie's wife. Just because the laws changed didn't mean a lifetime of shame and fear vanished into thin air. "Anyway, you didn't leave _ her _ then, either."

"I didn't know I was gay then! That's what I'm fucking telling you! This is a life-changing revelation for me, and she knew all along and never bothered to fucking mention it!" He's doing the eyebrow thing again, loudly.

And here's the big question, the one Richie doesn't dare ask but _ has  _ to ask. "When did you figure it out?"

"Right," Eddie says. "Yeah." He gets uncharacteristically quiet, and then he mumbles something. Eddie _ never _ mumbles. Enunciating is as ingrained in his nature as hating Richie's jokes and not reaching the top shelf.

"You wanna run that by me again?"

"It was when I saw your _ dumb fucking face _ at Jade of the Orient, you insufferable bag of dicks," Eddie says.

Richie starts crying.

"Okay," Eddie says slowly. "Did I read this totally wrong, or…"

"I'm in love with you," Richie says. Or rather, he stops  _ not _ saying it, which is the thing that has taken up most of his energy and attention for months now. He relaxes his white-knuckled grip on his own stupid emotions, and it bursts out fully formed, like that one chick in the mythology book he read one time who came out of her dad's forehead. "I love you, Eds."

He could swear he hears Eddie sniffle, but it must be an asthma thing, because Eddie Kaspbrak doesn't cry. "Richie," Eddie says quietly.

"Fuck. Went too far, huh?" He wipes his eyes and tries to think of a joke. "Hey, speaking of too far, one time your mom--"

"Jesus Christ, can you shut up for a second? I've never fucking said this before, man, cut me some slack."

"Okay." Richie shuts up for a second, and then another second. Midway through the third, he starts to get antsy. "Would you just--"

"I'm in love with you," Eddie says. "That's why I had to tell Myra. I couldn't stay married to her once I figured out what it was like to really love someone. Even if you didn't want me, I needed to leave."

Some men cry handsomely, their faces stoic as silent tears roll down their cheeks, displaying deep emotion and incredible strength all at once. Richie Tozier is not one of those men. He's  _ bawling, _ hiccuping and choking on tears, taking off his glasses to wipe his eyes and then not being able to find them again.

"Fuck, Eds," he says. "Of course I want you. Of course I fucking want you."

"Good," says Eddie.

"My whole stupid life," Richie says, since the floodgates are open and he can't hold anything back now. "I didn't know it was you, you know? I just had this idea of the perfect guy in my head, someone who'd be--like, smart and brave, and wouldn't put up with my shit, but wouldn't walk away because of it either. He'd have this wicked sense of humor, but underneath it he'd care so much about people. He'd do anything for--for someone he loved."

"Yeah?" Eddie's voice is gentle.

"Yeah," Richie says. He swallows hard, trying to get his wavering voice under control, and retreats to the safety of an inappropriate comment. "And his ass would look amazing in some tight little running shorts."

"Tight little--dude, are you talking about my ass when we were _ thirteen?" _

"It's not pervy," Richie says. "I'm just remembering the age-appropriate horniness that ass inspired in teenage Richie. Now I only want your forty-year-old ass in whatever shorts you wear to the gym these days. I know you must have some sexy ones."

"Richie, for fuck's sake! Running shorts aren't sexy, they're  _ practical. _ "

"Yeah, baby," Richie says in a deep, exaggerated Voice. "Send me a picture of you wearing something practical."

"Oh my God," says Eddie. Then, carefully, he says, "Is that something you'd really want, though? Like--a picture of me in shorts or whatever?"

"Eds, I'm going to try to say this as clearly and precisely as possible, okay?" He pauses, then says with emphasis, " _ Fuck yes,  _ that is something I want."

Eddie laughs a little. "You mean for… uh…"

He sounds nervous, but not freaked out, so Richie doesn't hesitate before saying "Yep, I mean for jerking off to."

"Okay, yeah."  _ Now  _ he sounds a little freaked out, or at least like he's trying really hard not to be. Once again, Richie's afraid he's gone too far. He's opening his mouth to apologize when Eddie says, "I want one too."

"One what?"

"A… sexy picture," Eddie says. He takes a deep breath and adds, "For jerking off to."

"Oh _ fuck. _ " Richie sees stars, like he's a cartoon character that's been hit on the head. "Eds, really? You'd--of _ me? _ "

"No, of Mike, you asshole. Obviously of you!"

"Mike makes more sense," Richie mutters.

"Well, no one ever said feelings made sense, okay? But you're the one I'm in love with, and you're the one I jerk off to, so you're the one whose picture I want."

The cartoon stars all go supernova. Sounding like he's had the wind knocked out of him, Richie whispers, "You… jerk off… to me?"

"Richie! Yes! What the fuck do you think we're talking about here? You're my fucking gay awakening or whatever! Masturbation is involved!"

Eddie Kaspbrak is yelling at him about his dick. Nothing in Richie's life, which has included some _ severely _ weird shit, has prepared him for this moment--but at the same time, he's been waiting decades for precisely this.

"That's fucking hot, Eds," he says. "Not gonna lie, I'm kind of getting a boner."

"Jesus, Rich--" It's reflexive, Eddie's impulse to shut him down, tell him he's gross. Richie was expecting it, he's not surprised when it kicks in, but then, incredibly, he hears Eddie cut himself off. His mouth closes with a snap that's audible over the phone.

Because Eddie--what the fuck, what the  _ entire fucking fuck-- _ Eddie doesn't want him to stop talking.

"Is this a bit?" Eddie says. "Or are you really?"

"Okay, cards fully on the table here?"

"What, there's more?" Eddie sighs. "Go for it."

"Well, actually, when you called me back, I was already spanking it. I've been at about half-mast the whole time we've been talking, but then you mentioned your dick and I'm back to full sail." He's not sure that nautical metaphor really hangs together, but hopefully Eddie won't--

"Is your boner the mast or the sails, here? Just so I have a clear mental image." God, Richie loves this little fucker.

"Whatever, dude, not the point."

"So you were--" He hears Eddie's throat click. "When you were. Um. Were you thinking about…?"

"You," Richie confesses. "Pretty much always you, since Derry. Occasional cameos by Adam Levine."

"Who the _ fuck _ is Adam Levine?"

"He's a singer, he--Jesus, Eds, who fucking cares, I'm trying to tell you I've had a boner for you the last six months! Adam Levine is irrelevant!"

"Well, you brought him up," Eddie grouses. It makes Richie tingle in a totally unfamiliar way. Is Eddie _ jealous?  _ Does it  _ bother _ him to think about Richie having a celebrity crush? That's so fucking adorable it hurts Richie's ribs.

" _ Anyway, _ " says Richie, trying to get them back on track. Then he stops, because "back on track" is easily the most vulnerable, revealing conversation he's ever had in his life, and he briefly forgot to be terrified about that, but now he remembers.

"Anyway," Eddie says back. "Send me a picture of you in a tank top or something. I want to be able to see your shoulders."

"Yeah?" Richie's face is red. "You're into that, huh? Dudes who look like they're trying to smuggle a kitchen sink under their shirts?"

"I don't know what I'm into," Eddie says. "I'm into you. Everything else is still an open question. Maybe I should look up Adam Levine."

"Will you fucking drop it already?"

"Will you fucking _ make _ me?" Eddie taunts.

"I'd make you if you were here," Richie says without thinking. Then he freezes.

Very, very quietly, so quietly Richie almost stops breathing just to hear him, Eddie says, "How?'

Richie squeezes his eyes shut and counts to three, so his voice doesn't shake when he says, "I'd kiss you, Eds. The way I've always wanted to do, ever since we were kids. I'd hold you in my arms and just kiss you until you couldn't even remember what we were arguing about."

"Christ, Rich. You have no idea how much I want that." Eddie's not doing anything to keep his voice from shaking. Richie wants to touch him so fucking badly.

“What else do you want?” Richie can’t resist asking.

“I… I don’t know.” Eddie takes his time choosing his words. “I think about--you. Not doing anything in particular, just being with you. Looking at you. Touching you. I just--I’ve barely done anything. I really don’t know.”

He sounds embarrassed, so Richie hurries to reassure him. “It’s okay,” he says. “We can go slow. You can take all the time you need to figure it out.”

“Tell me what you like,” Eddie says in a rush.

_ Fuck. _ “Really?” God, don't let him fuck this up. He'll die if he fucks this up.

“Really,” says Eddie. “Tell me what you want to do. Help me picture it.”

“Okay,” he says, still apprehensive. “You’ll stop me if I go too far?”

“I want you to go too far.”

_ That _ hits Richie right in the dick. He’s been using all his self-control fighting the urge to touch himself, but he’s  _ aching _ , so hard he can feel the heat radiating through his whole body. His hand creeps toward the bulge in his jeans. He needs something. “God, Eds,” he whispers. “Can I…? Are you?”

“Am I what?” There it is again, that hesitancy, the tension between running headlong and pulling back that constantly rages in Eddie. Richie thinks back to when they were kids. Eddie didn’t hang around with Richie because he wanted to be reminded of the safe, prudent options. That’s not what he wants now, either.

“Are you touching yourself, Eds? Because--fuck--I’m going to have to.” He digs his fingernails into his thigh. “Thinking about you gets me every fucking time.”

“Do it,” says Eddie. “Tell me.”

Richie stifles a sob. “Okay,” he says, and he unzips his pants, his head spinning. This must be a dream, but how can it be a dream when he can feel his pulse in every fucking vein, every  _ molecule _ of his body? How can everything be so perfectly clear, like the moment in the morning when he puts on his glasses and the world snaps into focus, but magnified a thousandfold? “I’m gonna do it, Eds. Is this okay? I have it out.” He grips the base of his cock like it’s his last connection to sanity and he doesn’t dare let it go.

“Please, Richie.”

“Okay. Okay.” His voice is thick as his hand begins, tentatively, to move. “I want to take your clothes off, so slow. I want to kiss you everywhere. Just to prove to myself that it’s really happening, that you’re really real. I want to--fuck, I want to suck on your nipples. I want to lick your neck, breathe all hot in your ear.”

“God. Fuck,” Eddie curses reverently.

“Do you have your dick out?” Richie breathes. When Eddie says “yes,” he has to bite his lip to keep from moaning. “Shit, okay. I want to take it out for you, when we’re together. I want to taste it.”

“Richie, you don’t have to--I mean--”

“Baby, I  _ want _ to,” Richie promises. “Has anybody ever sucked your dick because they wanted to? Because they needed to know how you’d feel in their mouth, because you looked like a cool drink on a hot day and they were so fucking thirsty for you?” He needs Eddie to know that he isn’t offering this as a favor, he’s not a fucking  _ altruist. _ Richie isn’t a good person. He’s a selfish, greedy fuck who wants every inch of Eddie every way he can get him.

“No one,” Eddie says. “No one’s ever done that at all.”

“Will you let me? Please, Eds--” There are tears in his eyes.

Eddie laughs, a short, startled laugh. “Of course,” he says. “What kind of fucking idiot would say no to that?”

“Can you picture it?” Richie asks. “I’ll get on my knees for you. You can sit on the edge of the bed, and I’ll look up at you while I’m taking you in my mouth, and you’ll be able to see how much I fucking  _ love _ it.”

“Yeah,” Eddie says. “Yeah, I can picture it,  _ fuck _ , Richie, I can see it--”

“I think about it all the time,” Richie admits, stroking himself faster. “Your cock pushing my mouth open. How you’d start leaking down my throat when you got close to coming. It would be hard to swallow with your fat dick in my mouth, but I’d do it, Eds, I’d swallow you down. I wouldn’t waste it.”

“Christ, Richie--” Eddie sounds close. Richie’s close, too, but he’s not done yet.

“And then I’d climb up into your lap,” he says. “You’d be really fucking hard from having your dick sucked, and I’d straddle you and--Eds, do you want to fuck me? Would you fuck me?” It feels like a reckless ask, even more so than everything he’s already said, and Richie’s heart slams into his chest with as much terror as arousal.

“Like… you mean your…” Eddie’s breathing fast and hard. Despite his verbal reluctance, it doesn’t sound like Richie has ruined the moment. It feels like they’re on the cliff, the quarry sparkling below them in the sunlight, and Eddie just needs a tiny bit more encouragement to leap.

“Yeah, I mean my ass,” Richie says. “That’s what I want. I want your cock stretching out my asshole and fucking me hard-- _ hard--Eddie--” _

“Yeah, I want to fuck you,” Eddie groans, and that’s all it takes. Richie barely has time to gasp “Fuck, I’m coming” before everything goes black, his eyes squeezing shut involuntarily as his orgasm slams through him. He can’t see, but he can still  _ hear _ Eddie coming too, saying Richie’s name just once, in a tone of pure, sweet astonishment.

After that, they sit in silence for a while. Richie sprawls limp on the couch, listening as Eddie's breathing slows to afterglow on the other side of the country. He yearns to reach across the space between them, to rest his hand on Eddie's chest, feel the sweat cooling there. The terror, erased for a moment, is back: what if this was too much, what if this is all he gets?

"Eddie?" he finally asks, tentative.

"I'm here," Eddie says. His voice is warm and sleepy and as soon as Richie hears it he's less afraid.

"Was that okay?"

"Was that--" Eddie laughs. "Fuck, Richie, that was the best sex I've ever had, and you weren't even in the _ room _ with me. I'm gonna lose my mind when I get my hands on you for real."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," Eddie says. "When?"

"You want to come visit me? Get away from the cold for a while?"

"That sounds really good," Eddie says.

"You've been saying you couldn't get the time off work--"

"Yeah, because I was trying not to see you again until after I filed for divorce. Fuck my work, man. I deserve a break."

"You do," Richie agrees.

"Myra thinks so, too," Eddie says abruptly. "It turns out the only reason she was okay with all my work trips is she thought I was covering up a gay affair. Now that she knows I'm not, she's worried about my blood pressure."

"Everyone is worried about your blood pressure," Richie says. "We have a separate group chat about it."

"Fuck off," Eddie says, but Richie can hear that he's smiling.

"Seriously, take a vacation," Richie says. "We'll get stoned by my swimming pool and I'll suck your dick every day."

"Twist my fucking arm." There's a pause and some clicking. "I can get a flight out on Wednesday. Is that too soon?"

Richie will not survive until Wednesday without putting his hands on Eddie. "I think I can make that work," he says.

"How long should I stay?"

"Buy a one-way ticket," Richie suggests.

"Okay," says Eddie. "I will."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I would very much like to have more fandom friends so maybe come find me on Twitter @askaqueerchick? I don't post much clown stuff there but I love following people who do 💖


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